Why, Donna?
by Specter-Paulsen
Summary: Set immediately following the events of 8.10.. Donna and Harvey go out for drinks; things are confessed, and forward movement begins


* * *

_I didn't feel anything when I kissed you, Harvey!_

The words have been swimming in her head for months. Three months, one week, five days and thirteen hours, to be precise. Every time she sees him she recalls his face that night. Recalls the words he'd spat at her with real anger, real hurt.

They haven't spent any time together recently. For a while, things had been "back to normal"; they laughed, they drank, they flirted. But for the last few weeks those things haven't been happening. She misses it. She misses him.

There's a tension between them. She's sure he can feel it too. It's been there ever since they'd argued in the lobby. Since she'd told him he was destroying her integrity, her reputation. He'd apologised later, though it was poorly constructed, but she'd let it go. She didn't want to fight with him.

So when the opportunity arises to have celebratory drinks, she takes it. Louis declines to join them and she's secretly glad, though she would never do anything to make that obvious. She's looking forward to some time with _him_. Just him. No distractions, no tension, no work. She wants to laugh, drink, flirt. She wants to be _them _again.

She tells him she's the real managing partner and they laugh about it. She knows he'd been admiring her dress and she wishes it was more revealing. He's always been easy to read in that sense. He likes to see skin. His eyes are always drawn to her decolletage when her clothing allows. This dress doesn't allow as much as she'd like. It's cut in a V, but it sits higher on her chest and there isn't nearly as much cleavage on display as she wishes there was. Not for the kind of night she's hoping for.

She wants to tease him into temptation and this dress is unfortunately not the way to do it. Had she known when she woke this morning, she could have dressed accordingly, but things didn't go to plan and now she's going to have to make the best of it.

When she winds her arm around his, she feels the warmth of his skin through his suit. It's more than they've touched in a long time. The last time they were this close together was Mike and Rachel's wedding. She doesn't allow herself to think of that night. Of how she went home alone and pleasured herself to memories of his arms around her just hours earlier, and his length moving inside her many years ago. She'd still been able to smell his cologne on her skin as she came, his name tumbling from her lips in a gasp.

When they arrive at a bar around the corner, she commands him to fetch her an Old Fashioned while she takes a seat at a table in the back. She grins when he places her drink in front of her, watching his lips touch the rim of his glass as he drinks from his tumbler of signature scotch. She wants to be that glass. She wants to feel his lips again.

They flirt throughout the night. He makes no less than seven suggestive comments and she finds herself leaning forward, her elbows on the table to enhance her… assets. He asks teasingly if she's trying to seduce him and she replies in the affirmative, her teasing tone matching his. He winks at her and she feels heat pooling low in her body, his affect on her undeniable.

They're drunker than she thought they'd get and that wasn't part of the plan. She's worried what she might say, but at the same time, the alcohol is making her brave. She's beginning to think that maybe this _was _part of the plan.

"I lied."

The words fall from her lips before she can stop them and he's confused, tilting his head slightly in that way that makes him look like a puppy and she almost brushes it off, tells him to forget it. But then she doesn't.

"When I said I didn't feel anything when I kissed you. I lied."

He's sitting up straight now, glass abandoned on the table as he studies her, his eyes searching her face. She doesn't speak again, waiting for him to make the next move. Waiting for him to dictate what happens next.

She bites her lip, struggling to read him. She's never had trouble reading him before. He's taken her by surprise a time or two, but she's always been able to see straight through him. Now she can't, and that unnerves her.

It feels like an eternity that he watches her. She's trying not to fidget, trying to hold steady, match his gaze.

"Why?"

His voice is low, but she can't decipher whether he's angry or not. She doesn't have an answer. It had been an instinct, self preservation, an act of protecting him. But she can't tell him that. She's already said too much. She purses her lips and he does too. They're still staring at one another, she waiting for him to make a move and he waiting for her to answer his question.

"Why, Donna?"

She still can't answer. She doesn't know how to tell him without revealing too much. So she shakes her head.

"You know what? It doesn't even matter." His words floor her and she looks at him with wide eyes. He's serious. More serious, perhaps, than she's ever seen him. "I want to take you to bed, and I've wanted to for a long time. So if you don't want to, then tell me now, otherwise, you're coming home with me."

She nods, unsure what else she can do. Words have failed her, for one of the first times _ever. _She watches him throw back his scotch, emptying the glass and setting it down. He nods toward her glass and she shakes her head again, suddenly unable to finish the drink, the warmth low in her abdomen distracting her from everything but him.

"Let's go." He's holding out his hand and she takes it, feeling the electricity running through her when his fingers entwine with hers. She can feel her breath quickening as he leads her from the bar, opening the door for her as Ray pulls up at the curb. She marvels for a moment at the timing but then sees Harvey slip his phone back into his pocket. When his hand presses against her lower back, pushing her toward the car, her heartbeat speeds up further.

The ride to his apartment feels like an eternity, instead of the twelve minutes it actually is. He doesn't touch her during the ride and they don't speak, until they arrive at their destination and he tells Ray that he can go home for the night. She doesn't miss the surprise on the driver's face, but he says nothing, simply bids them a goodnight and drives away.

"If you don't want this, you need to walk away. Now." His words feel almost threatening but they send a thrill through her and she shakes her head.

"I want this."

"Then let's go." His hand is on her back again, ushering her into the building. He doesn't remove it until they're at his door, and then suddenly they're inside his apartment and his lips are on hers and his hands are everywhere and she can't think anymore.

"Harvey," she breathes as he kisses down her neck, and it's pleading and breathy and everything that she is not, but it spurs him on and his hand is on her thigh, sliding under her dress and his thumb is tracing the edge of her panties and suddenly things are moving _fast. _

She unbuttons his shirt frantically, pulling it from his pants and pushing it over his shoulders, her hands moving to his belt as he finishes removing jacket and shirt. He unzips her dress at the same time she unzips his pants and there's fabric falling to the floor in tandem, both of them equally undressed, but still far too dressed, as far as she's concerned. She removes her bra and then her hands are at his hips, feeling the hard muscle and harder bone beneath his soft skin as they kiss furiously, tongues battling for control. She pushes at the fabric of his boxers, trying to get him naked. She's desperate to feel him.

"Bedroom," he rasps and the sound sends a jolt straight to her insides. She follows him and when he pulls her toward him again, she's more than willing. She's certain she's embarrassingly wet and when he dips a finger beneath her panties, teasing her entrance, she feels him slip inside without any effort at all.

The foreplay is almost non existent as they scramble to remove the last vestiges of clothing and then tumble onto the bed, his hard length pressed against her without any preamble.

"Condom?" he asks on a gasp and she shakes her head. She's protected, and she knows how regularly he gets tested because she's the one who used to make his appointments.

He slides into her and she relishes the slight burn that comes from his impressive girth without additional lubrication. He groans in her ear when he's fully sheathed inside her, stilling for a moment to appreciate the feeling of being surrounded by her; her legs around his thighs, her hands on his shoulders, and her hot breath mingling with his in the space between them.

"Do it," she says softly and he nods, withdrawing almost all the way and then sliding back inside. He sets a quick rhythm, rolling his hips in time with hers as she writhes below him. He thumbs her clit, coaxing her toward the edge, all the while kissing her, making love to her.

She can feel herself getting there and his pelvis is bumping against her in all the right places as his thumb flicks at her. She groans into his mouth, his tongue muffling the sound and he thrusts harder, feeling her start to clench around him. And then she convulses, a low cry escaping her lips as she grips his biceps and he thrusts shallowly as she rides it out. When she's still again, he strokes her hair, kisses her softly and then begins to pump within her again, bringing himself to his own ending with a handful of thrusts, spilling into her with a groan.

He collapses on top of her and his lips find her sweaty neck.

"That was worth a thirteen year wait."

"Yes," she agrees, "it definitely was." She's still holding him and the thought flits across her mind that maybe if she continues holding him, he won't leave. Then she realises that's crazy because its _his _apartment, so she's the one who will have to leave. He rolls to the side but doesn't make a movement to get up. His arms are still around her and his legs are still tangled with hers.

She watches him out the corner of her eye, his chest still rising and falling as he catches his breath. His eyes close as his body calms down. And then suddenly he shifts, turning to her, his hand splayed on her stomach, thumb idly stroking the underside of her breast.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, tender and it almost makes her want to cry.

"Yes." She tries to pull at the sheet to cover herself and his eyes narrow slightly, his head titling as he studies her.

"Donna, what's wrong?"

"I just — I'm cold."

"No, you're not." Despite his contradiction, he pulls the sheet over them, cocooning their bodies. He props himself up on his forearm and brushes some hair away from her face, their eyes locking. "What's going on?"

She chews on the inside of her lip, watching him, studying him. She feels sticky between her legs and wants to shower but she can't bear to leave the comfort of his bed where the warmth of his body radiates against hers. He's still studying her face, and she his, when something unexpected happens.

"Tell me something I don't know about you." He's taking pity on her, distracting her, giving her a way out. But the question surprises her.

"I… you know everything about me." She's taken aback, unable to think.

"I don't." His rebuttal is short, simple and she feels power in it, as though he's holding all the cards.

They lay side by side in silence for a moment longer before something comes to her.

"I love Christmas more than Halloween," she blurts out. To his credit, he's surprised.

"I always thought Halloween was your favourite holiday."

"I do love Halloween; dressing up, the spookiness of it all, but I prefer Christmas. More specifically, the lead-up to Christmas. The weather cooling down, the days getting shorter, the decorations around the city. And christmas music." she grins dreamily. "I love Christmas music."

He's watching her face intently and she suddenly feels self conscious. "What?"

"I've never seen you look like that. You look… happy." His eyes meet hers and there's an intensity there that she can't describe.

She feels herself withdrawing, pulling back emotionally in a way she can't do physically. It's exactly what she's been doing with him for thirteen years and she can see it clearly now in a way she's never been able to before. Maybe it's the sex, maybe it's his proximity, maybe it's the words they've spoken over the course of the evening. She only knows one thing for certain; she doesn't want to pull away anymore. She tilts her face toward his, catching his lips in a gentle kiss, attempting to communicate through physical touches rather than words. Who would ever have guessed that of the two of them, she would be the one to have the most trouble communicating what she wants.

They kiss softly, lazily, for a few minutes and she can feel the arousal pooling between her legs again, this man affecting her in a way no other man ever has before. He palms her breast and she feels like she could orgasm from his hands on her skin alone. He's everywhere; around her, on top of her, next to her, and she's overwhelmed by desire and terror in equal measures. She tries to shut off her thoughts, to silence the part of her brain that's questioning his motives, his feelings. She's desperately trying to ignore the little voice in her head that's telling her he's only in this for sex; that he doesn't feel the way she does. He pulls away, almost as if he can sense her inner turmoil, and when he looks at her, she wants to cry at the tenderness in his expression.

"What's wrong, Donna?"

"Nothing," she replies quickly. "Nothing's wrong."

"Donna. You might know people better than they know themselves, but I know _you_." He looks thoughtful for a second before he hesitantly asks, "are you regretting this?"

"I don't know." She closes her eyes briefly and when she opens them he's staring at her, his expression pained. "I mean, _no_, no, I don't regret it. I'm just —"

"I love you." His words are rushed, a blurted confession, but his face is serious and her heart leaps in her chest. "I love you, Donna. I'm _in love _with you."

"Are you sure?" The words fall from her lips against her will, that little part of her brain taking over briefly, voicing her insecurities.

He chuckles and the sound is music to her ears, an entire symphony in one small sound that sends her heart soaring and her blood singing. "Yes. I'm completely sure." He tucks her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you. I'm sorry for everything I did that prevented us from getting here sooner. I want you, I want _this_ with you. I love you, and I've never been so sure of anything in my life." He's rambling a little and she puts her fingers to his lips, silencing his monologue.

"I love you too," she says, her voice cracking a little, the emotion overwhelming her. "And you're not the only one who needs to apologise. We've both made mistakes, but I outright lied to you, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for the part I played in everything we've been through. But I love you too. And I want to be with you."

He kisses her again, and she feels lighter, freer. She can feel herself escaping from the prison of her thoughts, her mind coming back to the present, to the here and now - and suddenly she feels _everything_.

They take their time with the second round. They relish every second of foreplay, hands and mouths teasing, toying, roaming and playing. And when she sinks down on top of him, riding him slowly, his hands find their resting place on her hips and their eyes meet like they've never seen one another before. And in a way, they haven't. There's a new facet to their relationship, to the way they see each other and it's full of unknowns. But as she feels him twitch and explode inside of her, she knows they'll never be like they were before and she wouldn't change a thing.

* * *

**_A/N: Let me know what you think? *bites nails nervously*_**


End file.
